


I Turned and Fought Them (Like You Always Knew I’d Do)

by HunterPeverell



Series: Welcome to Glory [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Civil War (Marvel), Gen, safe house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a safe house. It wasn't much, but it was his. That doesn't mean he'd let his guard down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Turned and Fought Them (Like You Always Knew I’d Do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmouse15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmouse15/gifts).



> Happy birthday, mom! Hope you enjoy this story!

It—he—sat down wearily. The arm was acting up, but he knew enough now to know that he could not go and have it fixed. There were few people who knew of it—his—existence, and even fewer who could begin to help with the malfunction.

It whirred, and he knew that that meant some pathways were clogged.

He looked forlornly over at the rickety table where his supplies were. He had just recently bought some tools that should help—they looked somewhat like the tools HYDRA used to fix it— _him_.

(It has been over a year, and he is still getting used to being human.)

So much has changed. He has come to almost despise the glimpses of memory simply because they are so outdated they are of no use to him.

(He cannot completely hate them—they also give him pictures of Steve.)

The safe house is his, not HYDRAs. He found it and he made it safe. It was easy, finding the necessary equipment to help him hide and even easier stealing it. He installed it all himself, and it is the closest he has felt to safe in . . .

(He shies away from that thought, reluctant to delve into the memories of _Before_ any more than he has to.)

It is not, perhaps, the best place ever, but it is certainly not the worst. When viewing the world at large, he saw that people who lived in well-off places tended to be subjected to thievery. Likewise, people who lived in utter dumps also suffered thievery, as well as left themselves wide open as targets for many unsavory people. So the place he found was structurally stable and looked not-too-poor, but not-even-close-to-rich. It was serving him well.

The fridge was lukewarm at best, the wallpaper needed to be burnt, and he could occasionally hear rats or mice scuttling in the walls. He was unclear what the difference between the two vermin were, though Barnes— _Bucky_ —most definitely knew. He could taste the faint disgust in the back of his throat.

The water barely worked, the dishes he had stolen were chipped and scratched. The rug was torn thin. The blankets did little to keep the cold out. The pillow was flat. 

All this assured him that it was real.

Escape routes: Nineteen.

The arm gave another whirr. With a groan, he got up and went to the lopsided table. The lone chair was a gift; he had been pleasantly surprised when the old lady from two floors down had knocked on his door, announcing that she needed to get rid of it, but would he like it?

(He did. It was a gift. He had never had gifts before.)

The chair squeaked beneath his weight, but he ignored that and dragged the tools closer.

He closed his eyes, resting the arm on the table as he would on the Chair and reviewed his memories. Thought his brain was unreliable and faulty, it was memories such as these that were clearest. He could _(almost)_ hear Barnes—Bucky—whispering in his ear _it’s the future, this arm. It’s the future and it’s_ ours.

(He does not tell Bar—Bucky—that it is not the future. It is pain, and that is universal.)

_[Y’know, pain doesn’t last forever.]_

_(Shut up.)_

But he still traces the steps that they used. 

1\. How to open it

_(There is a faint click as the hidden button it pressed with flesh fingers, weak fingers, deft fingers. It is in a place where it could not be activated accidentally. The arm takes a moment to open completely, panels shifting aside and making room for fingers to poke and prod.)_

2\. How to search for the problem

_(Its—his—eyes open, dark and grim. They scan the neatly coil wires and parts, looking for any anomalies. The small hook taken from a dentist room with Chairs everywhere had not been easy, but it had been necessary. The hook is similar to what they used before, and he easily lifts the wires, holding the handle of the hook in it—his—teeth. The flesh hand investigates.)_

3\. How to fix the problem

_(He cleans and reconnects and fixes. It is so different, fixing instead of breaking. It is so different, fixing himself instead of breaking himself. He has to pause many times; intensely aware of how vulnerable he is, and readjusts, assures himself that it is okay for him to make sure he is functional. It is okay, because they cannot hurt him anymore . . .)_

(This is a lie he tells himself. It does not make him feel better, because he knows that it is a lie. He tells it anyways, in hopes that it may one day become the Truth.)

(Steve _promised._ )

The arm is satisfied for now. It hums instead of whirrs, and he knows he has done a good job. He presses the button again and the arm closes one panel at a time. He holds it there patiently, letting it close on its own. He does not know what will happen if the arm moves during this process, but he does not want to risk it freezing, leaving the arm partially open.

Escape routes: Nineteen.

When it closes all the way at the last _click_ sounds throughout the room, he stands and crosses to the terrible fridge and opens the door. There is not much in there that should be cold. The shelves cannot hold very much weight, and so he stores most of the food in the fridge, regardless of whether it should be refrigerated or not.

There are some crackers. They are salty and crunchy. He likes the texture. It is simple and easy to digest. He eats five.

There are also some rolls. He begged them from a baker. They are hard and the consistency is somewhat familiar, in a Barnes-way. [Something remembered, but not quite.] The skin of the bread flakes off on his tongue, and he presses them to the roof of his mouth, running them along the pink insides and feeling the foreign thin lumps on the roof until they melt into his saliva. He eats two.

His hunger is satisfied.

But that is when the sensor three floors below is tripped.

He hears the beeping, from the computer on the floor near an outlet—

_[Computers sure got small, huh?]_

_(Shut up.)_

—and he immediately goes to see who is there. The cameras nowadays are so small; it is easy to hide them in the mold patches and the baseboards.

There are men in black coming up his stairs. He is on the fifth floor. They are three floors below him. They are being quiet, but they did not expect his paranoia to extend to the entire apartment complex. The concrete stairway has many hiding holes.

(He does not wonder how they found him. It does not occur to him to wonder.)

He has a packed backpack sitting on the floor near the computer. It has food, medicine, a burner phone, a change of clothes, more tools for the arm, and a minimal amount of weapons (three guns, nine knives, fifteen spare clips, three bags of bullets, three grenades, and a gas-ball.)

He puts the backpack on. It weights barely anything to him.

He checks the cameras. They are two floors below him.

Escapes routes: Thirteen.

There are thirteen different ways to escape with the bottom three floors unavailable. The window is the easiest way, but one glance out shows the black cars across the street, obvious in their attempts to hide.

That is when the upper floor alarms are tripped.

The team on the upper floor did not take the main stairwell. They instead move through the inner stairwells that are wooden and unreliable, but remain still in use.

One glance shows him that the head person is using many signals, trying to avoid the sensors he has in the windowsills, the baseboards, and the ceiling lights. The head person clearly knows he is paranoid. The head person avoids most of the cameras and sensors. The head person did not account for a sensor and camera to be in the shaft of Mrs. Nelson’s umbrella.

(Mrs. Nelson likes to sit outside her door and chat with everyone. She often leaves her umbrella there, making it a good place to put a sensor and camera. She was agreeable to him taking it apart and placing his equipment inside. He likes Mrs. Nelson.)

Mrs. Nelson helpfully turns her umbrella shaft to follow their progress. He wants to thank her.

Maybe he will, if he lives.

Mrs. Nelson lives only one floor above him.

Escape routes: Eight.

He glances again at the screen, see the lower floor team is one floor below, the upper floor team is now creeping down to his level.

(He caught them on another camera, this time inside of the banister rail, fifth one from the small landing.)

It is with a jolt he sees Steve walking down his hall.

He does not know what to do. If there were two teams _without_ Steve in the midst, he would escape. Now there are two teams _with_ Steve in the middle, looking harried and worried and dressed in his Captain America outfit, and he does not know what to do.

It is because of this confusion he hears Steve knock and answers the door.

The look on Steve’s face is heartbreaking and sad, and he wishes it would go away. He cannot deal with a sad Steve. That is what Broke him.

“Buck,” Steve said.

“There are people here,” he said.

Steve nodded and took a step forward. He takes a step back and lets Steve in. Steve looks around the apartment with sorrow, though he cannot understand why.

_[Steve! Steve’s here!]_

_(Shut up.)_

“Buck, I don’t know who they are, but I think they’re the army,” Steve starts talking almost immediately.

“Oh.”

“You knew.”

Steve’s eyes fall on the computer, with the cameras and sensors marking the team’s progress. The upper floor team had reached his floor, but they were at the far end and still moving slowly. They were now caught by many more cameras. He did not know how Steve had avoided them all.

(Steve always surprises him.)

“Buck, you have to leave,” Steve says urgently.

Escape Routes: Three.

There is something more _important_ than escaping though.

“But what about you?”

Steve looks dazed, as though he could not process him—Bucky—thinking about his safety.

Steve jerked out of the haze and looked Bucky in the eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

He said that at the same time the door to Bucky’s apartment is shot open. Both of them turn, Steve raising the shield as protection, Bucky the arm.

“Get outta here!” Steve shouts, throwing himself at the doorway. Bucky does not want to leave him, but Steve shoots him a look before ushering the people back into the hallway. It is a pleading look, and Bucky always caves into Steve’s wishes.

Escape routes: One.

He jumps out the window.


End file.
